Can I Hold A Piece Of The Sky?
by TheTrueTree
Summary: Essentially just a short drabble. Dark theme-ish. But I was actually trying to be serious and write well so...I guess it's pretty good. Ichigo sits by himself, wondering over the calm he feels and how sweet the sky must be. (But is it really?) Rated T b/c I feel like K isn't enough. Angst b/c it's supposed to be a sad introspective and idk what else to put for genre.


It's always a wonder, those days when he can relax and just simply feel. They don't come often, and he never knows when they'll come again, so he's learned to appreciate them. To take his fill of them as much as he can before they're ripped away and he's thrown back to the wolves.

They never last.

But here one had (finally) come to visit again. Hell if he wasn't going to take it.

Ichigo thinks, maybe, if currency was the calm breeze, or the relaxing sky, or even just the silence in his head (the absence of war and pain and oh shit he's failed to protect someone aga-), he would work as much as he could. He would do anything to have as many days like this as possible.

But he know's that's not how the world works, that days are not currency, nor are breezes, nor the sky, nor silence. Still, if only they were.

He imagines he'd have a lot saved up by now.

Maybe a whole years worth.

Maybe two. Or three. Or - it's dangerous to think that way. He can't lose this day (not when they are already so rare).

For now, he figures he'll just watch the sky. Marvel at the peace. Treasure this moment for all it's worth.

Because really, isn't marvelous to look up and see the sky - and just see that? Nothing more, nothing less. No expectations, no darkening clouds bearing down. (Trying to tell him war is coming, there are more fights to come, he'll never escape the violent rhythm, he'll fail to protect someone eventually.)

And the sky looks like it's having a peaceful day too. There's not a single cloud out, no sharp-taloned and hard-beaked birds darting through the sweet icy blue, breaking such a thin layer of calm that no one really seems to mind the difference. (Except Ichigo and he's sure the sky minds too - it must want to relax as well.)

Then there are the trees reaching up towards the sky. They must want some of the sky's calm, and Ichigo can't help but feel jealous at how easily they make it so high up (and stay there too). He wishes he were a tree.

Imagine that: soft, yet strong, swinging branches holding themselves up high - green fingers reaching as far as they can and grasping onto the silent calm. Never letting it go.

Ichigo figures he'd be happy as a tree.

(Until he remembers the birds with their sharp talons and hard beaks and can't help but think of why the trees even need to take the sky's calm for themselves.)

So maybe not a tree. And maybe not the sky either.

Maybe he'd be happy as the shimmer before him, sky shades blinking off of cool water.

The water holds such a glow, taking in the sky and reflecting it back out. (Taking in anything and everything and reflecting most all, but keeping some for itself.) The water is calm, rare breaks caused by soft fish who don't seem to mind the rest of the world around them. They seem happy enough in the water that Ichigo is certain their happiness comes from the water itself.

(But then he notices how the brightness, the glow, the shimmer of the water only comes from it's ability to reflect the sky. Deep down, it's really quite dark and maybe those fish aren't really so happy after all. Maybe they're just prisoners held captive by the water so it might not be the only miserable thing so far from the sky.)

So really, Ichigo supposes they're all the same.

The water, the trees, the sky. Him.

Because somehow they're all looking to hold something they know deep down they can't have. Something they know would never last long enough. Something that would never be enough and could never be made just for themselves. Something too perfect and too far away from all of them to be held, taken, treasured, used.

Ichigo imagines he must look rather happy right now. Maybe he is. But he knows deep down he's just as dark and blank and angry and hurt as ever.

When he feels water slide down his cheek, he's not sure if it's his, or the sky's.

He figures it doesn't matter much either way - the calm is already gone anyways.


End file.
